


Salt Water Taffy

by revise



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Trigger warning I guess, all the other characters are just mentioned, it's literally just jim suffering, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revise/pseuds/revise
Summary: Jim didn’t want to eat them all (who would?) but there was an invisible force in his head, compelling him to do just that. Jim was constantly fighting that force, but why would he be able to overcome it? Why would that be allowed? Jim was a bad person, and he knew this was probably what he deserved.





	Salt Water Taffy

**Author's Note:**

> Just a vent fic I wrote awhile ago and decided to post cuz it's relevant to me again. I took it out on Jim because I was watching Star Trek and apparently I though he'd be good to write my issues into... watch out for triggers in the tags I guess?

Jim knew it was supposed to be a kind gesture, but of course, the famous Captain Kirk couldn’t even handle a gift. Spock had given it to him as a peace offering, and at the time, Jim was possibly a bit too eager to accept it; he’d almost been as excited as a child who’d received a piece of candy that they’d been begging for. Now he couldn’t even contradict his coworkers for often comparing his actions to a child's. 

At first, he wasn’t worried— or more worried than usual— about the bag of taffy, but then he had a piece. He was on his break, and the bag of sweets was just sitting there on his desk, unopened. Of course he could have a couple pieces of it. What’s the problem with indulging a little? He thought to himself. God knew it wouldn’t be the first thing he’d indulged in over the years. 

The second it passed his lips though, he resented nearly everything that came to mind: Spock for giving him the damn sweets, himself for eating the first one, his annoying food complex, his room for being so isolated from the ships crew, basically everything that dared to cross his thoughts.

The first one was candy corn flavoured, of all things. The package came with a taste chart on the back to tell what flavour each one was. Of course, being the obsessive compulsive person he was, the first order of business was to organize them into a line going from his least favourite flavour to his favourite. Well, it was the first order of business once he knew he had to eat them all. 

Jim didn’t want to eat them all (who would?) but there was an invisible force in his head, compelling him to do just that. Jim was constantly fighting that force, but why would he be able to overcome it? Why would that be allowed? Jim was a bad person, and he knew this was probably what he deserved. 

He also knew how terrible his eating habits were for his body. He was constantly struggling between eating too much, and eating nothing at all. His fasts would often last for weeks, and then he’d go through periods of binging. It took a terrible toll on his waistline (and probably the rest of his body), shrinking and expanding like a yoyo dieter’s. That’s basically what Jim was, wasn’t it? An extremist version of someone who couldn’t keep a diet going. It was either punishment by lack of food, or punishment by excess.

Currently, a period of excess was about to ensue. It was always something insignificant that would start it: a holiday dinner, a big breakfast. A gifted bag of candy. After this, he knew there would be food hoarding, and probably some late nights where he would eat until he physically couldn’t hold it anymore. He wouldn’t say he liked to induce vomiting, but sometimes it needed to happen when he really overdid it. It was all deserved though, so Jim’s attempts to stop were mostly halfhearted. He would live on. 

The next piece was bubblegum flavoured. Why somebody would want to swallow a flavour that was meant to be chewed and spit out, Jim didn’t know. He swallowed it anyways. 

Jim took care to unwrap the third one, making sure to pull the taffy off the wrapper so there was none left stuck to it. He popped it into his mouth. It was buttered popcorn flavour. 

The fourth piece was cotton candy, bright pink, and somehow sweeter than each other one he’d already eaten. He chewed the sticky substance as well as he could. It stuck to his teeth, and he swallowed it a bit too soon, so it went down in a lumpy ball. The sugar coated his throat and he swallowed some of his saliva to try and dilute the sugar. It didn’t work. 

He stood up for a second, off the corner of his bed, and paced around the room. Why am I doing this to myself? Jim asked himself that question more than he liked to admit. Well… admit to himself. He wouldn’t dare tell anybody about his predicament with food. It was complicated, and messy, and would only bring more problems. He might even get put on some kind of medical leave. Who knows what strange rules Bones would be able to implicate him with.

He picked the next one up, but continued pacing the room. The chocolate mocha flavour was a bit better than he expected. None of them were bad (nothing was ever really bad to Jim; he could eat anything in the right context), but this one went beyond his expectations. He wouldn’t call himself a coffee guy, but this candy was doing the trick.

Jim sat down again to eat his sixth piece. Maple bacon was a flavour he never thought would be used for salt water taffy. It was okay. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what all this sugar would be doing to him. He was terribly afraid of gaining too much weight. There were times when he’d consider himself chubby, but he never let himself get too big. Jim always found himself able to pull back and start the process of working his intake down to nothing. He preferred the nothing times if he was honest with himself, though they were much harder to keep up. The longest he’d gone was two weeks, not too impressive, but he wasn’t trying to break any records. 

Blueberry came and went. The sweetness was really starting to get to him after seven pieces, but he couldn’t stop. Despite his brain telling him it would be as easy as leaving the room, Jim stayed rooted to the bed. Somehow, he just couldn’t remove himself from the situation. It was an addiction by now, Jim knew that (though he didn’t want to accept it), but it was one that he just couldn’t kick. He didn’t know if he was particularly susceptible to addiction, but this one had a tight grip around his neck. 

Number eight was peppermint. It reminded him of toothpaste, but his teeth were starting to hurt a bit from all the taffy sticking to them. He almost laughed at the irony of the piece he was eating, but he couldn’t open his mouth well enough through the sticky mound. 

Though he started with his least favourite flavours, he could tell that it was only going to get worse from here. The sweets were relentless, and Jim wouldn’t be surprised if they were made from sugar and regret. A pretty fitting combo when he thought about it. 

The ninth piece was an unrecognizable flavour, based on the chart at least. It was a bright green with brown lines swirled into it. The second he put it into his mouth though, it was an overwhelming pear flavour. Not too bad. He was wary of putting it this far along on the line, but it was a small win. 

His head was starting to hurt from the sugar. He was starting to feel a bit ill as well. The sickly sweet smell was filling the air and worsening his pain. I deserve this. Jim always justified it to himself with lines like that.

Regardless of everything, the compelling force compelled. 

Ten and eleven went down fast, pure chocolate and then Neapolitan ice cream. With the overly sweet chocolate flavours swirling around his mouth, Jim wished for some real chocolate. That was quite possibly the only thing he could eat endlessly. As long as he took small bites, chocolate was forever. 

Through his sugar haze, he noted that there was still twenty minutes left on his break. Somehow too much, and not enough time all at once. He wanted a reason to leave, but he also wanted to keep eating forever. 

Twelve was root beer float, and it made him nostalgic. He had no idea why. Root beer had never been a big part of his childhood, and neither had floats of any kind. Just another flavour in the grand scheme of his life.

At the next one, he honestly didn’t know how he hadn’t vomited already. There was a throbbing pain between his eyes, and each sugary sweet swallow was worse than the next. Smores was good, but at this point, he didn’t know if he’d be able to look at another piece of salt water taffy once he was through with these. 

Strawberry banana was a bit of a relief with the fruity flavour, but not enough of a relief. They were all beginning to blend together, and they turned into a mash of something worse than belief. 

A fleeting thought ran through his mind. What if somebody walked in right now? What if I was called to the bridge for some godforsaken reason? He already knows that the second he stands up from this abomination, he’s gonna have to bolt for the bathroom. It won’t be good either. He knows how much trouble he’s going to have getting it back up. 

Caramel used to be a comfort, but fifteen was turning him off of it for a long time. Jim knew he wouldn’t even want to look at any of these flavours for at least a month. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption that this would be the start of an excess period. Maybe this was actually good, and he would be able to keep up his restriction for another couple weeks. 

With so many more to go, he unwrapped all the duplicate flavours that he’d set aside and ate them rapid fire. There were about seven total, putting the grand total at twenty two. There were only five left, but the end seemed so far away. 

Cupcake, peach mango, chocolate chip cookie, cherry, strawberry cheesecake.

They all went down in the span of five minutes, and they were back up in the next five. They came up with the rest of the taffy, in globs mixed with his small lunch and a bit of blood and bile.

When he stood up, there was five minutes before his break was over. He washed his hands thoroughly, wiped his face off with a cloth, and then stared at his reflection. His cheeks were a bit puffy, and there were a few tiny red dots of burst blood vessels, but other than that, he looked like the same old captain. 

The same old charismatic, outgoing, flawless captain. Captain Kirk, the golden boy of Starfleet. The man, the myth, the legend. 

He straightened out his jacket, and stepped into the hallway.


End file.
